Just Comfortable
by Simon920
Summary: Dick Grayson drops in on Wally West.


Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

…**Just Comfortable**

Wally opened the door to his basement. Well, it was a basement, but it wasn't a cellar, if you know what I mean. It was finished with some really nice paneling, good and well designed recessed lighting and furniture guaranteed to let you sink into it and let the stress and tension fade away while you watched a DVD the kids weren't supposed to see.

It was his sanctuary, his get away and the place he went to unwind without making Linda crazy. And it was about the only place in the house the kids knew they weren't allowed and actually respected. It was his and his alone.

Tonight, though, the instant he opened the door, he went on full alert, ready to roll away from a fist or a bullet or get his family out of the house before the blast could hit any of them. Someone was down here and he could smell the alcohol from the threshold.

Damn. No one knew about this place so it had to be a bad guy and God knew he was on a first name basis with more than enough of those.

"One move and it's your last."

The big padded rocking chair slowly revolved to reveal the man sitting there. "And here I thought we were friends." A slow smile was on his face as he sat there, beer can in hand and as relaxed as Dick Grayson ever allowed himself to be. Before he could react, Dick was pulled up into a manly hug by Wally, his back being pounded and his hand being shaken, all at the same time.

"Damnwhatareyoudoinghere?IthoughtyouwereinNewYorkdoingthecuratorthingandwhat'sgoingon?Problems?Someoneweneedtodealwith?ShouldIcalltheJusticeLeague?You'reallright,arent'tyou"

God, this was just so Wally. "I'm fine, nothing's going on, nothing's blowing up and I just wanted to see you." Dick smiled, laughed. "It's been a while, so I thought I'd stop by and see how you're doing."

That corn-fed smile broke out—it was just so ingenuous and happy—it was great to see it again. "I'll tell Linda you're here—staying for dinner, right?"

"…Sure. Um…I'll buy, okay? Let's go out—no sense for Linda or you having to cook or anything just 'cause I showed up. C'mon. My treat."

Wally gave him a funny look. "I _like_ to cook."

"I know that. I know you do. It's just that…"

"It's just what?"

"Wally, you know I love you like a brother but—dammit—It's just that…I mean, I hate to say anything and you know I'd rather step on my tongue than hurt your feelings…but, well…your cooking really sucks. I mean, curried scrambled eggs?" Dick tried to patch the hurt look. "C'mon—so does mine, I can't cook either, no big deal. You pick the place." The silence was very loud. "Or Linda can choose." Silence. "I'll pay for the sitter."

Wally stared at him for a long moment; "…Sometimes I wonder why I like you." He moved over to the staircase, shouting up to the kitchen. "Honey? Call Amy for the kids, we're going out to dinner, Dick's treat."

"He's here? Wonderful! Ten minutes, okay?"

Dick tried not to gloat. "So what are you in the mood for? Chinese?"

"You cheap bastard. Fondue." The local place was good but the entrees started at forty dollars apiece and was reserved for special occasions. But hell, Dick was rich and he_ did _offer.

"Real men don't eat fondue. Real men eat real food."

Wally looked annoyed. "_Real_ men? What, you read that in fight club or something? You're ridiculous."

Linda broke the deadlock by picking her favorite steak place over in the next town where she ended up ordering a salad, knowing the men would prefer the hunks o'beef they always ordered. "I wish you'd let us know you were coming, Dick—I have someone I know would be perfect for you and…"

This was an old refrain, and one Dick was getting tired of, even if he really did like Linda. "Thanks, but I'm good. Really."

"But you need…"

"Nothing. I don't need anything, except for another beer."

"Wally, tell him about Tiffany, please. You know how well they'd get along and she's dying to meet him after she saw that snapshot of you two on that camping trip last year."

Wally held his hands up in surrender with a simple, "Honey, no." He gave her one of rare hard looks, hard enough to let her know this wasn't going to fly, at least not tonight. Certainly not unless Dick got on the outside of several more beers. Then, maybe…or not.

Okay, fine. Next summer, though, when Dick came over for a cookout or something she'd make sure a few of her friends were invited and nature could take it's course. The dinner, other than that one wrinkle, went the way such things do when old friends get together with no agenda other than to enjoy one another. Afterward the dessert—very good cheesecake for the men and decaf coffee for Linda, they simply went back to the house to relieve the babysitter. Linda agreed to take over, letting the two men go back down to the basement and catch up. It wouldn't be the first time.

***

"So, what's going on in your life, Dick?"

"Same old, you know how it is."

"Not really, why don't you tell me?"

Dick hesitated; wondering what this was leading to. "Really, nothing. I hadn't seen you in a while and thought I'd drop in. No big deal, I promise."

Wally popped a second beer for himself, possibly a first ever. "And bats don't catch crooks, too. C'mon Dick, what's on your mind tonight? I know you better than that."

"Nothing Wally, I swear—we haven't spent any time together in almost a year and I wondered how you were doing."

"You could just ask Bruce, he sees me at League meetings."

Dick actually rolled his eyes. "Not his thing, noticing personal lives of the people he works with unless they're about to implode or go postal."

Wally smiled, "Well, that's true enough. You really do look tired though, 'you getting enough sleep?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Bite me. You looked whipped, 'you losing sleep for anything interesting or 'you just chasing bad guys till all hours."

Dick shook his head. "Bad guys and more bad guys plus I'm still cramming so I don't make a complete ass out of myself at work. You'd be amazed how many people know the difference between an English and a French fifteenth century baldrick."

That was _so_ Dick. "And you care?"

"I care about doing my job well, yeah, I do."

They were quiet for a few long seconds, listening to the clock ticking. "'You seeing anyone?"

"I was for a while but it sort of mutually ended a month or so ago." Dick shifted on the couch, the local news playing in the background on the TV across the room. "You know how it is in our line of work; it's hard to find someone who's in the same business who won't break your back if you hook up and it's almost impossible to find a civilian who can take the secrecy and the unexplained absences."

"Yeah, I remember what it's like, it's tough. 'Sucks being alone, though."

"Yeah, it does." Dick was slipping into the reflective mood that had probably brought him here in the first place. That was a rare thing for him, especially with someone else to witness it. Dick was a lot more introspective than most people gave him credit for, largely because he usually hid that part of his personality behind his over-riding optimism and generally upbeat way of looking at things; he'd always hated bothering his friends with too much id gazing. Clearly, something had gotten under his skin.

"You'll meet someone, you know you will—if you want to, anyway."

"I guess."

"C'mon, you're Dick Grayson, the perfect bachelor—rich, handsome, built and hung like a horse, or so I'm told. You even have a sensitive, classy yet tastefully high profile career." He paused, thinking. "And you _know_ the hero girls all say you have the best ass in spandex. You should hear Canary and Zantana talk some time—honestly. Hell, if I was a girl, _I'd_ do you."

Dick laughed, "If you were a girl you'd be too fast for me."

"That's the old Dick I know and love, _really_ bad jokes right on cue." They clinked beer bottles and sat in companionable silence for a couple of minutes. "So, you gonna tell me why you're here? That breakup bothering you? Call the girl."

"Nah, that's okay, it wasn't going anywhere—didn't have legs, as Alfred would say." Dick took a few moments, enough that Wally started to wonder if he was going to answer or not but simply settled for, "It's comfortable here, y'know?"

"…What do you mean?"

He took a long pull on his beer, his fourth. "Just that. You remember how it was at the Manor when we were kids? Stiff, formal, everything just so, controlled, timetables fixed and served at seven sharp every night, napkin in place." He put the empty bottle on the coffee table. "Sometimes I crave comfortable, laid back, you know—relaxed, no pressure. _Comfortable_." He leaned back in the overstuffed chair, his feet on the old table, every muscle at rest. "You don't know how lucky you are, Wally."

Wally watched his friend, seeing beneath the emotional mask he usually wore, understanding, loving the peace in his home, his wife and kids upstairs. "Yeah, Dick, I do." They were silent again for a few moments. "You'll have it too. When it's right, when you meet the right woman, you'll have it, too."

"I guess, one of these days, if I don't screw it up. 'But 'you ever miss it?" Wally looked a question at Dick and shook his head, not understanding what he was asking. "The, I don't know, the freedom I guess."

"Of being single?" Wally started to say something but stopped himself and began again. "I had a good time when I was single, you know that but when I met Linda I realized pretty quickly what I wanted—to be with her, to make home together, to be with her." He gave a small shrug with one shoulder. "It's good, what we have—and the kids—God, I didn't have a clue how much fun it would be to have kids, you have no idea, I swear you don't."

Dick had an expression on his face Wally had rarely, if ever, seen. He looked wistful. "It sounds good."

"Yeah, it is."

"Comfortable."

Wally wasn't all that surprised that Dick was jealous of him and what he had. He'd done everything humanly possible to get past his parent's murders and fit in with Bruce and the whole Bat-thing—and he'd done a good job but still… "Yeah…comfortable." They could hear the clock softly ticking over on the bookcase; it was almost one in the morning. "'You want to stay over?"

Dick gave him a quiet smile. "Yeah, thanks."

"You comfortable on the couch?" Wally knew the answer without asking the question; he had the extra blankets and pillows out and in place before Dick had time to reply.

Dick nodded, small smile still on his face. "Yeah."

1/18/09

6


End file.
